Morality and Mortality
by Kiaooh
Summary: It's hard to distinguish between right and wrong when mere survival blurs the lines. Ian's point of view throughout The Host.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Ian, what's wrong? Don't be upset. Are you alright?"

There comes a point in your life when you realize your parents aren't gods. You love them unconditionally until mid-adolescence, when you start to question their decisions and begin to ponder their ulterior motives. Bit by painstaking bit, you establish independence.

"Ian, come back. Just for a visit. Please?"

Independent or not, I'd always have a soft spot for my mother. Normally, I would have accepted the invitation without a second thought. Now, though, I was hesitating.

At the moment, the world wasn't working quite the way it should.

"I, ah, sorry, Mom. I'm going to stay here with Kyle and Jodes for a while."

"Please, Ian? Bring Kyle and Jodi, of course. I just want to catch up." I couldn't help feeling that her voice was wrong somehow. It wasn't wheedling. The attempt at a guilt trip seemed half-hearted, fake. The words were too polite, not at all characteristic of my sour, demanding and all-around terrifying mother.

"Just wait until I get a little time off work, alright?" I pled.

"Ah, yes. You must love your Calling."

"Uh, yeah." Calling?

"Okay, then. Promise you'll come down as soon as you get some time off, okay, honey?"

"Promise, Mom. Love you. Bye."

"Goodbye, Ian."

I hung up the phone, feeling more than a little disoriented.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: If I owned The Host, I wouldn't be littering the Internet with fanfiction. ;P Stephenie Meyer is my idol.**

**This is my first published fanfic. 8D I totally don't know the mechanics of this place—if I could figure out how, this would be in the Prologue, not tacked inconspicuously onto the first chapter.**

**…So um. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I guess? P**

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Chapter One

"Jebediah!"

If everyone wasn't so worked up, this is the point when a heavy, exasperated sigh would have fallen over the room. Maggie's intense lack of tact was enough to put a parasite's teeth on edge.

"Shut up, Magnolia. I don't want to be hearin' any more of this."

We'd been at it for hours. Every single one of us was squished into the kitchen screaming bloody murder, though Kyle was the only one stupid enough to actually try to use his fists. Brute force is nothing against a rifle, though, and the mob had calmed down, for the most part. Their discontent was just an angry simmer. The matter was far from settled, but most of the more influential individuals recognized that Jeb wasn't giving any ground tonight.

"Are you big lugs coming, or are ya gonna let me face her alone?"

_"It,"_ somebody corrected through clenched teeth.

"We're coming, Jeb," I muttered as Brandt returned, loaded with crowbars and nasty-looking heaps of twisted metal. Kyle rushed over to claim the most impressive weapon, a large machete. I gnashed my teeth together and grabbed a club.

Don't misunderstand me; I was just as pissed as anyone. We all tended to indulge Jeb's strange hobbies out of courtesy, but this was out of the park, even for him.

There was a parasite outside. Looking for us. Jeb had seen it. It wasn't dead.

I followed the rest of the search-and-destroy party out of the kitchen before my anger could flare up again.

"We'll just go see where she's at," Jeb said pleasantly. "Kid might be dead by now, for all I know."

Aaron, Brandt, Andy, Maggie, Wes, Trudy, Kyle and I filed after Jeb as he led the way out into the pre-dawn desert. Every one of us clutched a tool easily capable of incapacitating someone.

_Stupid old man. _We fumed in silence as our feet fell noiselessly on the sand, every pair of eyes trained on the horizon, searching for the inescapable army we knew was looming. Seekers; I suppressed a shudder at the word.

"Ugh," Kyle muttered in surprise at Jeb's abrupt stop; he'd been walking directly behind him and, when he stopped without warning, my brother had walked right into him. In a less stressful scenario, I might have laughed at Kyle's crippling lack of observance.

"Well?" Kyle demanded as we started to converge around Jeb, peering past him to see what he'd seen. "Where is it?"

Jeb leveled a glare at Kyle and put a finger to his lips, gesturing at a sandy lump at his feet with the other hand. We all looked down.

At first I thought it was an animal carcass; a donkey wandered too far into the desert, perhaps. But, as we stared at it incredulously, it groaned and shifted. A limb reached out and touched a battered canteen, the water inside sloshing wetly inside. I glowered at Jab, as did everyone else who was able to tear their eyes from the lump long enough to do so. There was no doubt in my mind how the thing had gotten water.

I tightened my grip on the weapon as the lump got taller. At last my eyes made the connection—it was a girl. A very dusty, battered-looking girl, but a girl nonetheless.

I didn't need the flashlight to know this was the parasite.

Every pair of feet, excluding Jeb's, shifted as it began to sit up. Its back was to us as it fumbled for the canteen; we watched in shocked silence as it chugged the sulfur-laced water. It didn't seem to notice the contaminant, though. My lip curled in disgust at its obvious greed, but I didn't move. There was no noise other than its parched swallows. Only when it was finished did Kyle's snarl slice through the silence.

"Why did you give it water, Jeb?"

The thing gasped and spun to face us, its eyes widening. It appeared staggered, but nobody relaxed. We'd all dealt with Seekers before. I watched its terrified expression with hard eyes, waiting for it to start talking. I wondered vaguely how it would claim relation to anyone here. A long-lost sister, perhaps, or someone's daughter, someone's lover. It looked too young to be mother to any of us. Whatever lie it told, it would be well constructed and designed to reach into the pit of our consciousness. It would dive into the most intimate of memories and latch on to that little thread of hope we've been telling ourselves doesn't exist; it would latch onto that hope and twist a knot it, drawing out sympathy not meant for the filthy parasites. It would play on our desperation and unwind us thread by thread.

We're too strong for that.

_"Something's messed up here, Kyle. Something's really messed up."_

_My brother rolled his eyes and reached over to muss my hair, ignoring my scowl. "Awh, come off it. You're too freaking paranoid. Find someone else to whisper your conspiracy theories to."_

_"It's not a conspiracy theory," I growled. "Kyle. Focus." I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. It had been Kyle's genius idea to paint it navy when we were kids. Of course mom had gone for it—Kyle was old enough to make decisions like that. Ten is so much more mature than eight, right?_

_"Dude." He put down the Xbox controller long enough to turn and look at me. "We're at home. I'm getting freaking _married_. We're not kids anymore. Mom's going to get back in two weeks, and then, I repeat, I am going to get_ married."_ He paused for effect, then continued in a subdued, mocking voice. "She's not an alien, I promise."_

_I glowered at him. "Kyle…"_

_"Hey, just forget about it, Ian. Relax, chill out. Life isn't going anywhere. You're gonna have years to theorize and spew all this sci-fi bull. Just gimme my peace for these few weeks, alright? Then we'll go both home, you alone, me with Jodes—" He paused to smirk, and I grimaced. He laughed at my expression. "Look, man, we're gonna be fine. Stop stressing out."_

_"Yeah, fine," I muttered, "stop stressing out."_

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